The Key
by theBalance
Summary: A ghost from Johnny’s past guides him on a journey through the most seldomtrodden part of is own mind: his memory.
1. Nalibunny's Right

The Key 

_A ghost from Johnny's past guides him on a journey through the most seldom-trodden part of is own mind: his memory._

AN: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac and all related characters and themes are property of Jhonen Vasquez and Slave Labor Graphics.

**-CHAPTER 1-NAILBUNNY'S RIGHT-**

The young man raised the pistol and rested the barrel tenderly upon his own temple. "You can't do this!" a small voice in is mind protested. "There are other answers…"

"No! I've had enough of this bullshit!" he replied aloud, his voice trembling as much as the finger on the trigger. Clenching his eyes, he makes to squeeze the trigger when another voice enters his mind. A soft, female voice full of empathy: one he is _sure_ that he has never heard before.

"Nailbunny's right. Death isn't the remedy this time, Nny."

Johnny C. looks up and realizes that the speaker is external. A young woman stands before him, deep concern in her gray eyes. Her white coat brushing against the toes of her white boots, straight white-blond hair falling in curtains about her breasts. She blinks serenely and smiles at him. Johnny blinks back and points the pistol at her in reply. "Who the fuck are you?"

The woman giggles softly and places her hand _through_ the shaft of the weapon, "You can't kill me, Nny – I'm already dead. As for who I am… I can't tell you upfront. That would defeat the purpose of my being here – you have to remember that for yourself. I can only say this: You were once a Waste-lock. _I_ was your Key. I am every answer that you have ever sought. Find me, and let your mind take comfort in the wisdom that I bear."

With that, the woman fades before Johnny's eyes; a key on a chain rests on the floorboards in her place. He places the gun down, leans forward and lifts the chain with the same finger that came so close to ending his life. _R?_ is inscribed into it.

"My key?" he whispers curiously.


	2. Question Your Reality

**-CHAPTER 2-QUESTION YOUR REALITY-**

Eventually, Johnny comes to the conclusion that the obvious place to find a spirit is a cemetery but… there were so many in this town. All morning, he wanders around the various graveyards. Around noon, he is drawn to a small necropolis situated in the shadow of a looming mausoleum, the likes of which are never seen in this town. Lured by the tomb, Johnny stalks through the headstones, keeping his eyes on the crypt. The mausoleum looks ancient. Mosses and ivies overrun the cracked stone, the name "Freja" is engraved in the door, a new-looking gold padlock seals it shut. Inscribed underneath it are the words: "Question your Reality, Trust only in your Dreams". Johnny takes the key from his pocket and compares the inscription. _R?: Question Reality_, opens the padlock and pushes the heavy door open.

Trying hard not to breathe the stagnant air, Johnny steps inside. The large cold room is empty, with the exception of a marble sarcophagus positioned in the center. He cautiously takes several steps and runs his hand over it's undecorated lid, circling it, not really knowing what he's looking for. _Could this be her? _He wonders, _or is this all some fucked-up trick of the gods?_ With a hopeful breath, Johnny braces himself with his feet, closes his eyes and pushes the lid with the heels of his palms. As the dust and spores clear, he peers in to find that no body accommodates the coffin. Instead it is filled with letters, jewelry and other trinkets. His eyes are quickly drawn to a painting that lies on the headrest; the style is very familiar to him. The brushstrokes are similar to Van Gogh's: short dashes of a madman clinging to the final threads of his sanity. The portrait is of a teenage girl, her arms covering a void that had been torn in her top, all of her visible skin is covered with bruises and cartousions, long dark-blond hair frames her once beautiful face. In spite of all of this, Nny is drawn to the eyes of the masterpiece: bright blue and pleading for the beholder to console her. The artist had abandoned his technique and painted with the accuracy of da Vinci, capturing her sorrow with such love and care that mirrored the artist's own view of this pitiful girl.

Curious as to who would paint such a haunting image, Johnny pulls his eyes from the girl's and looks to the lower right-hand corner. He blinks unbelievingly: the artist's initials are _JC_. "Is this mine?" Johnny utters in disbelief. He looks to the date: seven years ago…

_She sleeps so peacefully… why am I the one that's plagued with insomnia? It was her that was violated. Why can't I get that image from my mind?_ The fifteen-year-old boy releases the sleeping girl, stands up from the couch and walks quietly to the door. He stops and turns back to check on her: her chest rises and dips in her deep sleep underneath the borrowed shirt. Leaving the door open so that he will hear if she calls out to him, the young Johnny walks to his bedroom, lifts a canvas onto his easel, picks up a brush and paints like one possessed…

"It was you…" Johnny tells the portrait as he snaps out of the memory. "You came to me last night… Freja…" he adds in a whisper. Without warning, the mausoleum grows colder. Startled, Johnny turns to see her standing in the doorway.

"Indeed it was," the apparition states softly as she glides towards him. "Do you remember any more of that night?" he shakes his head and she continues: "Not to worry, it will come to you eventually. It was the same with me: my memories began coming in snippets when I found that locket," she points to a little piece of gold lying in the sarcophagus. Johnny picks up and opens the locket. Pictures of himself and Freja adorn the minute frames. "It was your face that lit my way," Freja continues before changing the subject. "Do you believe in the Great Balance, Nny? Actually, that question is insignificant – belief plays no part in it's existence. It is a theory – no, the _reality_ – that nothing can exist without it's polar-opposite. What is light if there is no shadow to obscure it? What is pleasure if there is no pain to obliterate it? What is love if there is no hatred to eradicate it?" She moves closer to him as though to emphasize her point. "What is life… if there is no death to receive it?

"While I lived, my duty was to preserve life. Yours, was to _destroy_ it. Do you remember the first night that you ever killed a man? I was there the night you killed your father, the night you painted _that_, the night everything changed. For you, for me, for this… hell hole we have called our lives thus far… and here we are." She adds in a whisper, placing a cold hand on Johnny's cheek, "Life is dead while Death lives. Life knows all that Death longs to. But as I said last night: I cannot tell you too much – how would you believe me if I did? I cannot excavate your mind for you – I can only give you clues as to the whereabouts of your artifacts. I cannot tell you where to dig."

Slowly, the walls of the mausoleum begin to fade, taking the sarcophagus with it but leaving the portrait in Johnny's hands. Eventually he finds himself in the open cemetery and the phantom drops her hand to her side.

"What _is_ this? An illusion?"

Freja shakes her head, "A metaphor. Everything that was within my 'tomb' must be obtained through your memories. The painting is the first of many. _Here_ is the allusion of the next. I shall leave you to your thoughts." The apparition evaporates, leaving the barbed leaf of a succulent plant on the ground. Johnny picks up the Aloe, confused for a moment, before looking at the canvas. _Could she've been any more cryptic?_


	3. Magical Plant

**-CHAPTER 3-MAGICAL PLANT-**

As Johnny walks home, his mind is busy trying to decipher Freja's messages. Out of nowhere, he hears a child sobbing. Raising his eyes, he sees a small boy sitting on the doorstep in front of an old house. Johnny is compelled to comfort the boy when he is almost knocked over by a girl on a bike. The girl is around the same age as the boy and it is obvious that she is novice on her bicycle. In front of the boy's house, she hits a stone and is propelled over the handlebars. Johnny is about to run to her aid when Freja whispers into his mind, "She'll be okay. Just watch." The boy rises, despite his own pains and runs to the girl, helping her up. It's only now that Johnny sees the boy's face: a black eye, a bleeding nose and a cut lip adorn his features and a spiral burn covers his left forearm. "Abusive parents?" he asks. "Drunken father," Freja confirms.

Despite grazes on her right elbow and knee, the girl looks deeply into the boy's injuries, sniffs back her own tears and asks innocently: "Does your daddy always hurt you like that?"

The boy nods sadly in reply and moves to pick up the girl's bike. She spots the burn on his arm and adds: "I can fix that if you want. My mummy told me of a magical plant. Look: you've got one!" she points into the boy's front yard. Under the front window is a small garden, amongst the weeds an Aloe Vera plant fans out. They walk over together and she snaps off a leaf, splits it with a fingernail and eases the clear gel onto her fingers. "It makes the fire go away," she states knowingly as she takes the boy's arm up in her left hand and applies the salve with her right. "You're quiet." She says loudly. "My name's Freja. What's yours?"

"Nny," the boy replies, the rawness in his throat causing him to miss the first syllable.

"'Nny'," she repeats. "That's a funny name. Wanna come over to my house and play? I live just over there," she points across the road.

Little Johnny clears his throat before responding. "I'll have to ask daddy first or he'll get mad again."

"Okay. Can I come with you?"

Little Johnny shrugs shyly, "I guess so."

The children join hands and walk into the house, leaving the bike on the footpath…

"Stop it, Freja! I know what happens next, I don't want to see this!" the adult Johnny calls to the air around him.

"You do, do you?" Freja answers as her grown-self appears from the door of Johnny's old house. When she reaches him, she ads: "Tell me then."

He looks into her eyes, once so bright and full of life, now pale and empty. _We heard Mum pleading as we entered. God, she was so afraid… Dad was yelling at her, telling her not to alert the neighbors. He said something about not getting in the way of my punishments. We saw them in the kitchen, she was cowering on the floor, Dad stood above her with the boning knife. She saw me and started screaming at me to run 'anywhere but here!' she had said. _Anywhere but here…_ Before Dad turned around, I grabbed your hand and we ran, Mum's screams still following us. Then she was silenced… she just _stopped_ screaming. We were outside, Dad caught up to us. He stood at the door, I spotted the blood dripping from the blade… you were so afraid – we both were. I don't think we ever thought about a destination: the only thing on our minds was flight…_

"That's enough for today, Nny," Freja said soothingly. "Come on. I'll take you home."


	4. Lock and Key

**-CHAPTER 4-LOCK AND KEY-**

"Not everything that happened that day was bad, Johnny." He was sitting on his couch, immersed in the sorrow and fear of the recollection. Freja's essence was still trying to calm him. "Since that day, we were never apart, right up until we became Lock & Key. It was just the two of us: us against the world. No one, mortal or otherwise, could break what we had. Unlimited understanding… uncompromised trust… boundless devotion… mutual respect…"

"_Why_ are you doing this to me?" Johnny interrupted her musings. "Why are you putting me through this?"

Freja gave him a pained look; he knew instantly that she wasn't looking for sympathy. "Because it's my purpose," she answered simply, as though those few words were enough.

"Your _purpose_? Then why haven't you come to me before? If it's so important–"

"I couldn't," she interrupted quietly. "They wouldn't let me…"

"_They_?"

"I can't answer that. I never got a chance to find out."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Do you want me to explain this or not?" her voice was surprisingly calm despite Johnny's obvious irritation. He didn't answer so she continued: "After I lost you, I searched far and wide in vain. Slowly I began to loose my memory, like you did. That was when I became the Key: my job was to clean up wherever you messed up. The innocents you left for dead, it was my duty to ensure they survived. Anyway, eventually I found the locket that I showed you before and, as I told you, my memory came back to me. I took up my search again and began researching instances like ours – there have been one in a generation, in every civilization, since time began, in case you were wondering. A Lock and Key should _never_ meet – before, during or after their service – because any emotional link could interfere with their opposing duties. The memory loss is a fail-safe incase, as with us, that happens. I eventually found you… too late of course – you were already dead. They told me that it was physically impossible for us to meet in our later lives by default, but I knew it was because they were _afraid._ Afraid of the power that we would possess together. With our command over both life and death we would've been unstoppable: one entity, purely immortal. They ruined our lives out of fear and greed, Nny. Never gave us a chance. I am here to make it right. You serve no one but yourself from now on."

Johnny opened his mouth to speak but was struck dumb: Freja was long gone. An old six-round colt lay in her place.


	5. Stay With Me

**-CHAPTER 5-STAY WITH ME-**

… It was hard to believe he and Freja had been together almost ten years. They had been through enough already together. Johnny had a growth spurt when he was twelve and had been emaciated ever since. The other kids gave him hell at high school – even the ones who called themselves his friends joined in the sport. Whenever he asked them to stop they would tell him to harden up, not to be such a pussy. Only one person stood by him in the taunting, and she had been there since the start. She knew all his pains and welcomed them as her own. He'd had a few suicide attempts, but she seemed to know when he needed her. The last couple of times, the blade had been so close to the vein when the phone would ring. He let the answering machine pick it up, both times it was the same caller with the same message: "I know you're not okay, Johnny. Come over and see me. I'm always here for you, Nny. I'll never leave you, I promise." Freja knew not to come over when Johnny's father was around. She always told him that he could stay with her whenever his dad hit the bottle but for some reason he always declined.

Next week would be the tenth anniversary of his mother's death; the same day he met Freja, and his sixteenth birthday. His father always drank heavily around this time – even more than usual – he tended to remain at the pub for the next seven days. But not even Freja came around this time of the year – she knew that all Johnny would want to do is paint and he appreciated the solitude. Although she would always assure him that she's just a phone call away if he needed her.

Johnny had just had a moment of inspiration; as usual it was something Freja had said that made him thought of it. He had his brushes and easel set up, his mind clear, ready to make the first mark on the canvas when the phone rang. _Shit_ he thought. _Just leave it, they'll hang up._ Without thinking, he placed the brush down and picked up the cordless.

"Johnny!" Freja whispered on the other end of the line. "I need you… Mum… Dad… They're– Oh, God he's found me... Johnny!" she manages to scream before her voice is silenced by a muffled _thud_ and Johnny is instantly worried. He drops the phone and runs through the house, stopping at the small cabinet in the lounge – _Dad has always hid his gun here._ He opens the top drawer with a quick jolt and snatches up the revolver, running to the door.

The front door of Freja's house is ajar, Johnny pushes it open with the barrel of the gun to see the hallway and it's adjoining rooms in disarray. Following the sounds of Freja's desperate screams, he passes the master bedroom. Freja's father lay crumpled on the floor in the doorway in a pool of blood, emptied from his own carotid artery. Her mother lay on the bed, nightgown torn, a single stab-wound to her bare chest – clearly the motive was sexual. Freja's cries snapped Johnny out of his horror and he continued towards the bathroom at the rear of the house.

Johnny instantly recognized his father squatting over Freja's body as she thrashed in protest. Without hesitation, Johnny cocked the hammer and raised the gun, resting the barrel a hairs-breadth from the base of the vile man's neck. Carefully positioning it to avoid hitting Freja when the bullet exits it's target, he pulled the trigger. With all the adrenaline pounding through his ears, Johnny barely heard the _crack_ as his father fell. He slowly lowered the colt, dropped it to the floor, and proceeded to drag the corpse off of Freja and attempted to assess her injuries. With fear still clouding her judgment, she clawed at him weakly as he tried to comfort her.

"It's alright, Fray, it's me. It's Johnny. It's your Nny. It's over, he can't hurt you anymore…" he whispered, trying to gently restrain her. After a while, her complaints ceased and she collapsed into tears against his chest. For what seemed like an entire age, Johnny sat with her in silence, rocking her, occasionally stroking her hair and kissing her forehead, assuring her that she was safe. After she had calmed down, he convinced her to return home with him, to stay away from the gore and terror of it all. "You can have a shower if you want, borrow some clothes. I'm not leaving you on your own, not like this…"

Freja sniffed and nodded slightly in reply, her throat was so raw she was unable to utter a sound.

Leaving the revolver on the floor, Johnny helped her stand. _The cops can find it, I don't care. _He used his body as a screen to shield her from the sight of her parents as he guided her through the house. At the front door, he removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders to keep her warm and dignified as they crossed the street.

Freja ran straight to the bathroom and jumped in the shower, desperate to physically clean herself of the metaphorical filth. Johnny paced the hallway, running over the events in his mind, he soon realized Freja had forgotten to get a towel. He stopped at the hot water cupboard and grabbed a long dark-blue towel from the top of the stack and knocked on the bathroom door.

"You forgot your towel…" _Shit, that sounded like an excuse…_ he added quietly to himself. "I mean…"

"You can come in, Johnny, you've seen me naked anyway," she replied, almost cheerfully.

He turned the knob and entered, intending only to reach in and leave the towel draped over the sink. He withdrew his hand and made to close the door.

"Please stay," she whispered, her cheerful charade fading. "I need someone to talk to…"

He stepped in and sat next to the towel on the edge of the sink. "Okay, I'm here, I'm listening." He looked around, as though this place was new to him and noticed through a void in the blue curtain, that the water running into the drain was pink. "Are you..?" he stood up and pulled back the curtain to see that Freja was scrubbing her skin raw, in some places, even causing herself to bleed. "Oh, Fray…" he held out his arms invitingly.

She threw down the loofah and melted into his arms awkwardly. "I can't get him off me…" she sobbed.

Johnny stepped up into the shower and held her tightly, ignoring the scalding-hot water she had been using. When he caressed her cheek she looked up into his eyes. He wiped away the tears that were mixing with the falling water and kissed her lovingly. She rested her head on his chest and he whispered, "Stay with me. I promise I'll protect you…"

Johnny bolted upright – he had fallen asleep on the couch. "Stay with me…" he said aloud, and closed his eyes.

"I tried…" Freja's voice answered him.

Opening his eyes he saw, wrapped around the trigger of the revolver, the gold chain of the locket.


	6. So Be It

**-CHAPTER 6-SO BE IT-**

Johnny walked away from the bookstore's window silently, reminiscing of that one night. _Why did I have to fuck it up? I came so close to something beautiful…_

"It appears you love this girl, no?" Freja appeared next to him, gliding effortlessly.

"Don't talk to me about love."

"You speak as though I know naught of the word. As though _you_ don't _want_ to."

"You sound like Reverend Meat."

"That's because I am as much a part of him as you are."

"_You_ left him for me?" Johnny stops and turns to her presence.

The ghost nods and Johnny continues walking. "To remind you that, like it or not, you _are _human. You have emotions, weaknesses. That girl from the bookstore is just one of them."

"I don't believe in emotions. Everyone hides their weaknesses – I confront mine. They give themselves a false sense of security, telling themselves they are better than those around them. Constantly trying to prove it, to themselves, to their friends…"

"Ignorance isn't an emotion. Deny it all you want, it won't make the fact go away. Did you not weep when your mother died? Did your blood not boil whenever your father beat you? Did you not comfort me when I was raped? Did you not kiss me that same night?"

Johnny lashed out at her before realizing she was a mere apparition, his fist pushing through her as though she were mist.

Freja laughed softly, almost mockingly, as she re-established her form, "Was that not anger? Your _weakness_ that made you try to strike me? The latest in your memories of emotions. The rest are so fresh in your mind you _cannot_ deny them. You. Are. Human. Johnny."

"NO! I'M NOT LIKE THEM!"

"I never said that," she answered quietly. "You're an observer. You see the filth that taints mankind, destroy it, find more… the cycle continues. Or, at least you did, but… old habits die hard, don't they, Nny? You cannot stop it: you are beyond salvation. But redemption is still within reach."  
Johnny calms down quickly with the thought of this new prospect. "Redemption? How?"

"That knowledge is not mine to tell, I cannot help you in that respect. You must seek it out yourself. I'll stay with you, make true my promise so long ago, if only to help you make sense of it all."

He turned to reply, only to realize that the spirit had stopped some way back: they were outside Johnny's old house once more. Freja gestured to the door, "Are you ready for another?"

"How bad is it?"

"The worst is over, but this is still necessary. This is where our lives together ended. No one has lived here since us… Do you have the locket?"

Johnny pulled on the chain around is neck and the trinket left it's hiding place from under is shirt.

"Turn it over," she ordered and he obeyed.

_Stay with me_ was engraved in the back of it.

"It almost four years ago," Freja stated. "Anything?"

… They had been lovers for just over three years now; Johnny had been plagued by dreams and visions for around four months. Freja had begun a paper in psychology via correspondence, in a futile attempt to make sense of what was happening to him. The pair were walking towards their house, after a trip to the local library. Freja knew her way around the place pretty well as she worked part-time as a librarian and had begun researching a possible explanation for Johnny's waning sanity whenever she could.

"Any luck today, babe?" the nineteen-year-old Johnny enquired.

"A little," Freja shrugged. "I don't know about it's relevance though. I don't know if you'll want to hear it…"

"I'm listening," Johnny replied, unlocking the door.

They stepped inside and began walking towards the kitchen. Freja began: "Well, apparently, back in medieval France, an instance was recorded where a man began murdering people for no apparent reason. Everyone thought he was insane or… possessed… or something. He would rant about a demon in his wall, needing blood to keep it contempt. The king heard about this and sent his army after him – he was never found. But his journal was: it contained, not the babblings of a madman, rather the words of a man who saw too much. As though the rest of us mortals were shrouded in our own ignorance and only _he_ could see the truth. I think there was a later instance in Victorian England. But… those are merely folktales, passed through word of mouth alone. But… from what I've seen with you? Maybe there is more truth in them than we think."

Freja switched on the kettle while Johnny walked over to the cupboard and took out two mugs. "You think that's what's happening to me?"

"It appears so," she replies, spooning coffee and sugar into the cups. "Bear in mind: we can only guess."

They continue the conversation throughout their drinks and dinner, concluding that whatever is happening to Johnny has nothing to do with sanity – or lack thereof – and beyond their control.

Later that night as they lay in bed, Freja sleeps peacefully while Johnny is wakeful. He looks over to her, sighs and rises, careful not to disturb her. An earlier conversation plays over and over in his mind as he walks into the lounge. A few nights before, Johnny had fallen into madness. As Freja tried to calm him, he had drawn a knife and held it to her throat, he remembered that much. But it was not the act, so much as her reaction that haunted him on this night. "Kill me if you must," she had said sternly. "There are much worse fates for me out there. I'm not letting them take you. Not without a fight. If my life must end, then so be it." _So be it._ It was those words that made him withdraw the blade. But he had come so close… he had felt her flesh giving way under the steel. He knew that he couldn't fight it for much longer, that next time he might very well kill her. That one moment had been lingering since it occurred. Johnny had come to the supposition that the only way to protect her was to leave. He had been planning this moment since then. Opening a drawer in the old china cabinet, he pulled out a small gold locket. Intricate Celtic knots wove themselves around the oval trinket. Johnny had had the words _Stay with me_ impressed into the back of it, if only to remind Freja of what they had. With his right hand, he closes the necklace in a protective fist, and walks reluctantly back to the bedroom.

A few unwilling steps brought him to the bedside. Freja still slept serenely. _Good… it won't be so difficult…_ With his right and on the pillow next to her, Johnny brushes her air from her face with is left and kisses her tenderly on the corner of her lips. "Try not to miss me too much, okay?" he whispers, before rising and letting the locket fall from his hand. With the last of his sanity, he fights the urge to smother her and instead turns, exits the room and closes the door for the last time…

"I dreamed those words…" Freja reminisced. "Your touch… That kiss… When I awoke, as soon as my mind was clear of sleep, I _knew_ you were gone… I knew that I would never see you alive again. I knew that I had lost the battle when the war hadn't even begun. I was prepared to die protecting you from the unknown. But… I had no idea that when I did, it would be too late."

It was impossible for Johnny to deny that he had indeed been affected by freja's distress. Since the first memory of her, he had been fighting the return of emotions that were now impossible to grasp. In this last recollection, he realized that he was loosing. He stepped in close to her – an action that previously would've disgusted him – and placed a hand upon her cold cheek. He slowly moved his face closer to hers. It wasn't long before Freja realized what he was doing and, as much as she longed for it herself, she darted away.

"I can't do that to you, Nny. A kiss from the dead is damning: You will long for me in the flesh though it cannot be. I can't do that to you," she repeated, shaking her head. "It would destroy your spirit."

Johnny thought for a moment, remembering… He wanted that feeling back, security, comfort, the only true euphoria he had ever felt. Without comprehending the consequences, he spoke the words that Freja was dreading: "So be it." Not giving her a chance to dodge, he swooped in, locking his lips onto hers. Johnny felt her give in, resigning herself to the sweet caress that she had missed so much.

But it was short-lived. He felt her lips form into a cringe under his own and he released her. She looked down to his chest, avoiding his eyes. "Oh, Nny…" she whispered, resting her head on his chest. "What have I done?"


	7. My Final Breath

_AN: thank you Ashley- Friend of Pliers for your review… I honestly never thought I'd be getting any so soon._

**-CHAPTER 7-MY FINAL BREATH-**

Although Johnny couldn't see her, Freja was pacing the lounge, watching him. She couldn't read his thoughts, but she could tell that the kiss was already beginning to affect him. He was pacing also. Every time they collided, he would look up as though hoping she would appear. _I can't_ she told herself. _It would destroy him. I must let him cool off. I can't leave – it would blow his mind… I have to find a way to cure him before it is too late._

Her mind went back to one of her own memories, just before she died. She was going about her duties at the local mall where Johnny had done some "expressing" previous, when she felt a shudder surge through her aura. Her mind went straight to Johnny and she lowered her rowan staff, abandoning the woman she was healing to run to him. She had known where he lived for some time now, although an unseen force kept her from him. As she ran, the world around her began to dissolve slowly. It was then that she knew exactly what had taken place: Johnny was weakened, dying. When she finally reached Number 777, she saw a man's upper body fall into the void that surrounded the house. It was soon followed by a woman peering out of the doorway before screaming and succumbing to the gravity of nothingness. _You're too late you stupid bitch,_ a voice told her. _No! I can't be!_ She replied. _He must be alive. Just hold on, Johnny, please!_

The earth surrounding number 777 was slowly crumbling away, creating an ominous mote of emptiness. Freja steeled herself and took a running leap over the void, raising her staff and jamming it into a crack in the doorstep to save herself from the perilous fall. She scrambled up and stepped inside to see her beloved lying in a pool of his own blood. The wall-creature was looming over him, its uncountable appendages and mouths all thirsting for the blood of it's captor.

"Oh, no you fuckin' don't!" She ran to Johnny's side and turned to the menacing beast, raising her staff. She could already feel her own strength giving way as the demon hung over her, salivating limitlessly. _It knows who I am_, she realized. _Is sees that I, too, prevented it's escape._ Acknowledging her waning might, Freja opts to use willpower alone, driving her staff between the creaking floorboards, creating a shield of pure life around the two of them. She turns her back on the creature, bending down to Johnny, his body still warm. She knew she couldn't bring him back: he was too far gone. Nonetheless, there was no way she would let the beast claim him. She brushed away his fringe, caked in blood and examined the gunshot wound in his forehead. "This isn't fair," she whispered to the cadaver. "Of all the worthless, undeserving pieces of shit that I've saved… why can't you be one of them?"

Freja looked up defiantly at the beast, which faded before her eyes. She continued to watch, awed, as a huge figure rose up from the darkness. "Let him go, child," his voiced echoed with unimaginable power.

"Never," Freja shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

"I've already met him. Trust me, dear, he's not the sort a girl like you would like to introduce to your daddy."

"You never gave him a chance," she spat bitterly. "His life was fucked from the start, _I_ was his last hope, _you_ took that from him, Diablo."

"You misunderstand your place, sweetheart," the demon sneered. "You are alive, be thankful for that."

"I shouldn't be," she stated quietly. "I've had my life… give Nny his. Please?" she pleaded.

"I can't do that, darling. Not without a soul to replace him, you of all mortals should know that."

"Why can't you just take mine?"

"Are you willing?"

Freja looks to Johnny's lifeless body, still clutched in her arms, then back to Senor Diablo. "Definitely."

"You will have no second thoughts?"

"None," she replies instantly.

"You understand that due to your hatred towards us, you are not fit for Heaven? That you were not petty in mind therefore you cannot become one of my charges? That your soul must linger ever-Earthbound?"

Her simple answer came without hesitation: "Yes."

"Very well, child. I must leave to make sure your 'friend' hasn't made a mess of my world. I will send word to Elize, see if she can drag St. Peter from his post to aid you through the ritual. You have until they arrive to prepare."

Freja agrees and Diablo disappears into the darkness. As she looks around, Number 777 reforms around her, the rebooting of existence was a success. Releasing Johnny's body, she rises and plucks her staff from the ground and begins searching for something – anything – she can connect to herself and leave for him. Her eyes fall upon a wooden crate, sitting almost unseen in a dark corner. Using an oddly-shaped dagger found nearby, she pries apart the timber boards to find a plastic Bub's Burger Boy – _perfect. _ The polystyrene nuggets fall to the floor as she lifts it from it's tomb and places it on a desk next to where Johnny lies. She clears up the box and puts it back in place before raising her staff over the figurine.

"Reverend Meat," she addresses it, lowering her staff. "Tell me why you are here."

"To remind Johnny C. that he is what he does not want to be."

"Promise me you won't taunt him. Do not drive him from sanity when he is so close."

"And if he denies it..?"

"He will. Just refrain from the mockery as much as you can."

"Yes, Mistress," the model turned silent, his duties acknowledged.

After a short time, Damned Elize appears, followed soon after by St. Peter. "Are you ready, Freja?" the Angel enquired.

The Mortal looks down at Johnny's body and nods silently.

"Alright. Elize and I will lend you our powers of Heaven and Hell for your sacrifice."

As though entranced, Freja kneels next to her lover's body, her left hand rested upon his shoulder, her right clutching the staff for support. The Damned and the Privileged Ones take their positions either side of her, Elize takes hold of the staff while the Saint places his hand on Freja's left forearm. The three begin chanting in a monotonous, forgotten tongue. The Mortal breaks off from the mantra, leaning in close to Johnny's still form. Uttering words that only a lover understands, she straightens his body, crossing his arms across his chest. She then presses her lips to the wound on is forehead, effectively healing it: her final task as a Key. Pressing her nose against his, she mutters the closing words of the rite, sealing her own fate.

"With my final breath I give you my life. With my final heartbeat I give you my love. As my blood runs it's final course through my veins, yours shall run anew. So this, my final breath I give to thee." Closing her eyes, she concludes the ritual with a kiss, feeling her breath become Johnny's, her heart jump-starting his, her blood flowing into him. Freja's hand slides down the staff as she sinks into oblivion…

AN: that's it so far, I'm afraid. I appear to've hit a brick wall. Which isn't really that surprising, considering I've been writing this with every snippet of spare time I've had for nearly two weeks… and thinking about it the rest of the time.


	8. Next WasteLock

**-CHAPTER 8-NEXT WASTE-LOCK-**

"Todd Casil…" Freja muttered aloud, pondering.

"Freja?" Johnny lifted his head, eagerly searching for the origin of her voice.

"It must be him…" she continued, paying no heed to Johnny.

"What?"

"… The next generation's Waste-lock for this town is Todd Casil," she stated simply.

"You mean Squee?"

"The very same," she finally begins talking to him directly. "He is your redemption, Johnny. You cannot prevent someone from becoming a Waste-lock: it is fate, unavoidable. I learned that the hard way. But you _can_ prevent him from becoming _you_."

"How the fuck do you expect me to do that?! Incase you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly mentor material."

_Perfect_, she thought._ As long as I keep him pre-occupied, he can't think about me._ "Here is something that you never remembered because there was never a chance to tell you. Two weeks after you left I found out that I was pregnant. I've seen the way you talk to Todd, look at him, protect him… it's almost paternal…" she trailed off, unintentionally placing the wrong thought in his mind."

"Squee is my–?"

"No way – that's impossible. About a month later, due to stress, I miscarried. Though perhaps, if only metaphorically, he _is_ the son we never had. His own parents ignore him, despise him; _you_ are his only hope. He trusts you, Nny. Although he is afraid of you, he admires you, looks to you for guidance."

"So… you're saying that I need to teach him to _accept_ humanity's faults? How the _hell_ can I demonstrate that when I can't do it myself?"

"Honestly? I don't know. We'll find a way, though. We _must._"

"_We_? Are you saying you'll stay?"

"I might as well: I _am _stuck here after all." _Shit,_ she thought. _I'm loosing him, he's back to dwelling on me._ "I'll go see him in the morning, hopefully I don't scare him too badly…"

AN: I think I'll end it here since it'll probably be a while til I write anymore anyway.

My apologies for the cliffhanger – I hate them as much as anyone.

I was planning to finish it with Freja's death but I made the mistake of adding a few things on pure impulse – Namely the kiss and Freja mentioning "redemption". Now thanks to my own stupidity, I have to find a way to flow with it.

Oh, yes, and I'm sorry for the whole "Squee being a Waste-lock" thing. I know how obvious and clichéd it's become but I honestly couldn't think of anything else for Johnny's redemption.


End file.
